Prodigy II: Prodigal Son
by ChipmonkOnSpeed
Summary: The much anticipated sequel to Prodigy. James and Andron, our returning heroes, attempt to discover the origin of magic. They encounter new science, new magic, and old habits along the way.
1. Everything Is Back To Normal

**Chapter One:  
Everything Is Back To Normal  
**

* * *

**1/28/08  
Monday  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
Crime Lab  
9:00 PM (PST)  
**

James Potter walked into work at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, right on time for his eleven o'clock shift. He liked to be a little early, just to prepare. And, having been gone for six months, he figured he should get organized and make sure no one had found his stash(es).

Having cured lycanthropy and killied the Dark Lord Voldemort, James decided to settle down back into his old routine. Gil Grissom, his boss, was standing at one of the secretary's desks and talking to a receptionist. He looked up when James entered, somewhat confused.

"I thought you were out for three more days?" Grissom asked. The young genius was sure the supervisor had marked his calender with red pen and bold letters declaring, 'INCOMING', on the day James was originally going to return.

James smiled and spread his arms out in front of himself, "Today must be your lucky day! No, seriously, I convinced them that I had to come back."

Grissom raised an eyebrow and picked up the file he had been holding. "What makes you think I want you back?" he asked, setting off toward his office.

"Hey now, whoa!" James called, following him. "Not nice. Definitely not nice. I am kind and sweet and charming. Who wouldn't want me?" he demanded.

"Me," Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, and Greg Sanders chorused. James shot them a mock-hurt look and continued to follow Grissom. Once they were comfortably seated in his office, Grissom set the file on his desk and leaned back in his chair to look James over.

"Do you feel that you could fit in here again?" Grissom asked. He seemed a bit skeptical. "After all of that excitement?"

"You're worried about my mental state," stated James with a slight smirk. "You're worried that I've gone crazy. Well, fear not. I took my psych-eval last Friday, and they cleared me for work. I'll work here about forty hours a week, and in various other places around the country about another eighty hours a week."

Grissom gave him a long, penetrating stare. "That's five days of work a week. Literally five days. What do you plan to do with the extra 48 hours?" the man asked, only half-sarcastic.

James propped his feet on the supervisor's desk and thought for a moment. "Well, I am not currently going to school, I'm not working on any research, and Andron is catching up on his classes. He's spent the last week writing a textbook, the poor guy. He had to knock out a hundred pages a day."

The night shift supervisor looked around the room. "If only he could go back in time," he said.

"Your office is charmed; no one can hear us, I promise."

"Good. So, did he? Go back in time?"

"Of course," answered James with a smirk. "Still tough work though."

"I do not doubt it. So, How has everything gone since then?" asked Grissom.

James grimaced. "So, Drake's estate was ridiculous to close up. In our world, he is what you would call a Senator. Only, in my world, we put much more emphasis on family, heirs, and ancestors. I was named his heir, so I had to deal with everything. I'm just lucky I'm not in Britain; their seats are hereditary in their government. There is a seat for the House of Potter and the House of Dumbledore, both of which I'm in line to inherit. No fun. So, his estate was very clear. I got everything, which included his guns, his money, and his houses. We held a service for him. He was buried in the magical section of Arlington Cemetery, along with the other's who died that day."

"What about Andron's father?" Grissom asked, almost impulsively. "I mean, how is his family doing?"

"Lars was awarded a posthumous commission as a Colonel, and was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. He was also buried at Arlington." James rubbed his eyes and cracked his knuckles. "His family is… carrying on. None of them have gone off the deep end, so that is encouraging."

"Are you speaking to your family yet, James?"

"Ugh. Two days after I left, I sent Dumbledore a cell phone and my number. I, of course, included detailed instructions on how to use the phone. I just did not trust him to get it right. I told them that they could call me once a week. I have done my best to remain open minded toward them. I spent many years hating them, so trying to be nice is… trying. But they are somewhat nice, if I do not think of them as family."

"I see," said Grissom. He checked his clock and let out a surprised sound. "I was supposed to be at a crime scene twenty minutes ago. I'm surprised my phone didn't- oh, it did." Grissom looked confused as he looked at the missed calls on his phone.

Chuckling, James said, "Oops. Must have gotten a bit overzealous in my silencing. Hey, I'll go with you!"

James and Grissom traveled to the crime scene in silence. James read over the notes Grissom had taken when he first got the call. A boy of about nine had been murdered in his home while his parents were out at dinner. Slit throat, no visible signs of sexual assault.

He greeted Catherine and Nick at the crime scene, noting their somber countenances. Apparently the scene was gruesome. James put on his vest and latex gloves. The sight that greeted him in the kitchen was just as horrid as his colleague's expressions let on.

After his shift in the crime lab, during which nothing major happened with the case except evidence collection, James travelled to Manhattan to assist the Special Victims Unit.

**1/29/2008  
Tuesday  
New York City, New York  
Manhattan SVU  
10:00AM local time (7:00AM PST)**

James helped himself to coffee upon his arrival.

Elliot Stabler was sitting at his desk and barely noticed him as he filled out DD5's and what looked to be a use of force paper. Olivia Benson, Stabler's partner, breezed in with a chain brand coffee and a stack of papers. She looked a bit disheveled, but otherwise as pretty as usual. She sat down without noticing James. He resisted the urge to check himself for an invisibility charm.

John Munch and Fin Tutuola entered from another door and sat at their desks. "Oh, hey James!" Munch exclaimed, with a joyfulness that was simply odd from the usually dour, cynical man. However, Munch was a great source of entertainment in the form of odd conspiracy theories and flippant one-liners.

The other three detectives snapped around to look at him. "Hello, dears," James said with a small wave. He sipped the terrible coffee and dropped into an empty chair. "What's up today?"

"Stabler, Benson… Potter?" Captain Don Cragen said as he walked in, obviously surprised to see James. He shook his head and continued. "You three, rape homicide." He handed Elliot, who was closest to him, a small slip of paper with an address.

The three people loaded into a car. Elliot refused when James asked to drive. He was sure the older man was mumbling about 'crazy teenagers', 'not my car', and 'certifiably insane'.

During the drive, the two detectives explained to him what had happened to them in the previous two weeks. Apparently, somebody had stolen embryos from a sperm bank for some crazy reason or another. They had apprehended the perpetrator, but James missed the reason for the crime.

When they arrived at the scene, ADA Casey Novak, a tall redhead woman in her mid-thirties, was standing outside of the house, talking on a cell phone and tapping her foot. She looked a bit impatient. As soon as she saw them, Novak waved them over with a sharp gesture.

She explained to them that the woman that had been raped and murdered was a diplomat of some sort, but Washington DC was being secretive about what she actually did for the government. However, the SVU team was to give the case their utmost effort and attention. Munch and Fin were also called in to work with them. Even Captain Cragen had to make an appearance at the scene to appease the media.

The room was liberally splattered with blood, with smeared handprints all over the place. "This is a set up," James said the moment he saw the room. The other detectives and the Medical Examiner stared at him blankly. "It's too… contrived. Look at it! I think this might be more blood than the human body holds."

"I think he's right," ME Melinda Warner said. She pointed to the body. "Most of these wounds are obviously inflicted posthumously. I'll know more when I determine the cause of death. You can take her," she said to the two coroners waiting to take the body. The two men bent and lifted the body onto a gurney to wheel out. James' muscles contracted as he saw the woman's face; it was a high ranked member of the magical government. Last he had checked, her name was Annette Bennington, and she was a director of some agency that dealt with muggle relations.

Of course, last he had checked, the US had no less than 15 agencies at the Federal level to deal with muggle relations. There had been a movement in the late 60's to establish better relations with the muggle world. James figured it had been fueled by LSD and a common feeling of 'unity' and 'love'- probably fueled by LSD.

James shot Olivia Benson a look, which she picked up on, and she replied with a nod. The Detective had obviously put two and two together between the unknown career and James' odd look.

Stabler, apparently acting the quintessential man, did not notice. They processed the scene methodically. James felt for a residual magical energy in the room. Use of dark curses often left what muggles would call a 'bad feeling' or 'cold presence'. Wizards called it residual dark magic. Not quite a unique or creative name, but it served its purpose. No government was ever known for being creative in naming things. James was certain that there was an agency dedicated to coming up with boring, government-approved, politically correct hyphenatable and/or acronymizable names. In fact, that agency was probably named the Bureau Of Really Intellectually-deprived Names for the Government (_BORING_ for short).

Drake had made James learn what various spells felt like before, during, and after use. That had mean that Drake had spent about a week casting spells, and asking James to describe what was going on. If one put forth the effort, they could sense the magic being called upon, released, and then feel it linger around.

He put that skill to use in that room. He could make out the cruciatus curse, and a few other low-end torture curses. As he moved around the table in the middle of the room, James could figure out that the castor had been by the window. It was a fairly muggle home, so there were no magical artifacts to be stumbled upon. The thought of Stabler running across a sneakoscope was hilarious, though. The neighborhood, however, was mixed muggle-magic. The lack of magical items was almost odd in that situation, where most muggle neighbors knew of magic.

The Killing Curse had come from different caster in a different place. The second door, the one that led to a hallway, was the place of origin. James stepped over a toppled chair and toward the door. Behind him, he heard Stabler whisper to Benson, "Has fruitcake gone nuttier?"

"Yes," declared James, "I am now fruit and nut cake. Same package, great new flavor!"

As soon as everyone was ready to head back, they piled into cars and returned to the stationhouse to go over the evidence and make calls to friends and relatives, to find who might have killed her.

Problem: Annette Bennington was a witch. Which meant that there was a high chance of her family also being magical, because that area of New York City had a high ratio of purebloods to muggleborns.

Not much of a problem, really, except that only forty-three percent of magical families had landline telephones, and just a few less had cellular phones. That made getting a hold of them difficult; it wasn't like they were listed in the phone book. James made some calls to a few contacts higher-up to get some numbers.

In an interrogation room later that day, James gathered Munch, Fin, Benson, Stabler, Cragen, and George Huang, a forensic psychiatrist and FBI Agent assigned to work with the SVU team, in the interrogation room. For added security, James added a silencing charm around the perimeter.

"So, dears, we have run into a bit of a problem that we should get out in the open right now. Our victim is Annette Bennington, who she is the director of a government agency. A magical government agency. In most cases, a muggle law enforcement agency would be visited by a magical agent, who would introduce themselves as a muggle detective or agent that had been assigned to work the case for one reason or another. However, I am here, so that is not necessary. Any detective that has run across magic in the course of their cases has had their memory of the entire case wiped."

"Wonderful!" Detective Benson said, rolling her eyes. "So, how many cases have we forgotten?"

James opened the file in front of him and counted. "Benson, seven. Stabler, four. Tutuola, four. Munch, ten. Cragen, sixteen. Huang, nine." Someone knocked on the door, and James waved his hand. When Munch turned to open the door, James said, "Don't bother. Whoever that was no longer remembers why they knocked, and they walked away."

"You really like messing up people's memories, don't you?" Stabler asked, folding his arms in front of him. He was leaned back against one of the concrete walls, staring at James.

"Yes," James said without remorse.

After their impromptu meeting, James walked out into bullpen and nearly ran into a poorly dressed man. The man was about to apologize, but then looked at James' face. "I found you!" he exclaimed. "My name is Robert Burns. May I speak to you, privately?" he asked, looking around.

James gave a slow nod and followed the man to the front steps of the precinct, doing his best to ignore the biting cold of the midwinter New York City weather. The man seemed incredibly nervous, and he fidgeted endlessly. "What did you need, my friend?" James asked.

"Listen, um, you're James Potter, right?" Robert asked. James nodded. "I, uh, heard you and your friend created a cure for lycanthropy?" James nearly took a step back. The man before him did not feel magical, nor did he have the noticeable feel of a werewolf. "No, I am a muggle," Robert rushed on. "My wife is muggleborn. And a werewolf. You were in a neighborhood earlier. My wife works… worked for Annette."

James nodded. "We did find a cure. We're currently refining it, to make it as useful as possible. Right now, a subject must endure both the potion and brain surgery, which comes with its own set of risks. We're working to eliminate the need for surgery."

Robert nodded, and stared off at traffic. He took a deep breath and said, "We both understand the risks of brain surgery. However… we're desperate here. I knew she was a werewolf before I married her, but it's destroying her. She thinks she's ruining my life. I would do anything to make her happy. We don't have a lot of money, but…

The man looked him in the eye for the first time. James shook his head.

"No, my friend. I would not charge anyone for this. Here," he said, writing a number on a piece of paper, "call my friend, Andron Schwartz, and he'll arrange an appointment for you."

The man looked like he had never gotten better news in his life. Which, he probably had not. After thanking James profusely, Robert nearly skipped away. James reentered the precinct and set to work on the Bennington case.

As he entered, he noticed that Stabler and Tutuola were glaring at each other. James did not even want to consider why they were mad at each other.

"I have made an awesome discovery!" James announced loudly, startling several of the people in he room. They turned to look at him, expecting great news. James took a deep breath and said, "If I retire at seventy, I get _one hundred and twenty four_ percent of my retirement benefits from social security. Of course, since I might live to be-"

James ducked as Tutuola threw a stapler at him. "Shut up, Potter," the man said. James raised his hands in surrender and retreated to the autopsy room.

Melinda Warner, the Medical Examiner, was standing at a computer reading results of a test. She half-turned to nod to him as he walked in to the room. "She is not in any data base we have. I suppose we know why. I could not place a cause of death, but there are signs of extreme muscle damage. Do you know what might have caused this?" the very intelligent woman asked.

James looked at the body for a moment before he replied, "There is a curse that causes extreme, excruciating, debilitating pain. A common after-effect of the curse is muscle tremors. It is also not uncommon for people to pull muscles or tear tendons while under the curse. She was exposed to this curse for some time, most likely to gain information."

Melinda sighed and walked across the room to a microscope. Looking in, she asked, "When will people learn that torture is not a reliable way to get information?" James figured that the question was rhetorical, and remained silent. He sat on a rolling chair and toyed with a scalpel that rested on the tabletop next to him. "There was unidentifiable DNA found on the victim's shirt, from a dribble of saliva."

"He spit on her," James said in disgust. Some people were just sick.

Warner nodded. "But, if we find a suspect, I could match him to the DNA."

James walked down the hall toward the captain's office, but stopped when his phone rang. It was the ringtone he had assigned to his grandfather, Albus Dumbledore. Somewhat confused, James answered the phone, "Hello?"

"James," Dumbledore said, obviously relieved. "We have several people here that wish for you and Andron to provide the cure for them. When convenient, could you please return and handle your admirers?" the older man asked.

"Hardy. Har. Har. I'll be there in a few hours."

**1/29/2008  
Tuesday  
Hogwarts  
8:00PM local time (12PM PST)**

Being sure to make arrangements with Andron and his colleagues, James apparated to Hogsmeade and made the long walk to the castle. Finding it mostly empty, James continued to the Headmaster's office. He walked in without knocking, which the older man seemed to have expected. He sat himself down in a chair across from the Headmaster and waited for the man to finish a letter.

Dumbledore looked up and said, "Ah, James, tea?" Without waiting for a reply, Dumbledore waved his hand, causing a tea mint green tea set to appear on his desk.

Deciding to assume the man had completely lost his mind, James raised an eyebrow. "Coffee," he answered. With a slight smile, Dumbledore waved his hand again.

It took a while for conversation to emerge. "I have had twenty-nine requests for your assistance just today," Dumbledore finally stated. He sighed heavily and set his teacup down. "You have become quite a popular lately. Now, what do you plan to do?"

"Well, Andy and I have a waiting list two months long. Sob stories get moved to the top of the list. Americans get priority," James said.

Dumbledore's face betrayed only a little of his surprise. "Why the priority for Americans? And what about sob stories?"

"I am in more of a hurry to cure mothers of six than a convicted felon. Children, as well, are moved up the list. American's first because I do not want to be running all over the world to perform brain surgeries. Hmm. Let me amend that. Anyone in America, first. If one of you redcoats want a cure, you will have to travel across the world."

Dumbledore flicked a piece of candy at him, huffing. The older man rolled his eyes and continued, "How many people have you agreed to cure?"

"Well, everyone that has asked thus far has received the potion. However, come the full moon, they will still psychologically become a werewolf, in that tumors will still grow on the amygdala. They will not physically change, though. Andy and I have yet to discover the catalyst for the physical change. And why, for that matter, the psychological change does not really take effect until the physical change. It is all very weird, and it defies all medical logic."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin with a long finger. "I know you do not like the man, but please listen to this comparison. When my friend Nicolas was creating the philosopher's stone, every decision he made was against all known magical logic, He was cast out of the Alchemy Guild for his outlandish ideas. However, he persisted, and continued to ignore what was deemed logical. As he is still alive more than five hundred years later, I suppose he did something right," Dumbledore said. "What I am trying to say is this logic is only logical, because that is what has been tried before. Perhaps in a few hundred years, what you are discovering now will be logical, as opposed to illogical."

"Until then," James said, "I have no precedent to base my research. Until now, no person has attempted to mix muggle and magic theories and technologies to create this cure."

"I had thought I chose the right person for this. I had so many options, you know," the old man said with a smile. "You're not the only teenaged genius I know."

"Oh, really?" James asked, his eyebrow raised. He fought a smile for a few seconds. "We don't grow on trees, you know."

"Do not worry, kid, I know exactly where you came from. I changed your nappies," the Headmaster said. James rolled his eyes. They sat in silence for a few minutes. "Am I keeping you from work, James? I do not think I have ever seen you sit this long."

James shook his head. "I am slowing down," he replied. "I am not going to live to thirty if I continue on the way I was. Sitting is… nice," James said, grimacing. The lie tasted bad in his mouth.

Dumbledore actually laughed at that statement. "Sure it is. You are just as I was as a young man; intelligent, powerful, and restless. You wish to save the world, but you want it done tomorrow. Take your time, James. You have a long life ahead of you. More than enough time to do everything you wish to do."

James nodded, but sighed. "Right now, I am working on a few cases. In Vegas, a little boy was murdered in his home. In New York, Annette Bennington was raped and murdered in her home."

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side. "The Director of Muggle Education in the Magical World?" he asked.

"That's what it was!" James exclaimed. "Yes, her. How did you know that?"

"I like to keep abreast of foreign governments. I also believe she once filled in for a member of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Anyway… with cases such as these, there is only so much time to catch a suspect before the trail goes cold. There is a rush. Always. You cannot ask for enough time when rapists and murderers are on the loose. It is constant. That is what I am used to."

Before Dumbledore could answer, James' phone rang. "James Potter," he answered. James put it on speakerphone so he could pour himself more coffee.

"James Potter, you do have a Top Secret security clearance, correct?" an unknown voice asked.

"I cannot give out that information without knowing who I am talking to," answered James.

"This is Michael Coal. I am with the Nellis Air Force Testing and Training Complex in southern Nevada. I have a project I am working on, and I could use your help."

As he always did, James interpreted '_Nellis Air Force Testing and Training Complex in southern Nevada_' as **Area 51**. "I am listening."

"Have you heard of the Stargate, Mr. Potter?"


	2. Really, Very Normal

**Chapter Two:  
Really, Very Normal**

* * *

**1/29/2008  
Tuesday  
Hogwarts  
Headmaster's Office  
9:06 PM Local Time (1:06PM PST)**

"_Have you heard of the Stargate, Mr. Potter?" _

James sat for a moment. "I have heard the word, but I could not put it in context," replied James. The 17-year-old had heard of most things, one way or another. His security clearance allowed him to know most state secrets. He had to overcome the standard "need-to-know" clause, which was easy enough with either whiskey or a confundus charm. Dumbledore made a motion asking if he should leave, but James shook his head and waved him off. It would be rude to run the man out of his own office.

"The Stargate program is a top secret program run by the muggle government, created sometime last year. The Air Force is in charge of it, actually. We have been monitoring them, and we have come to the conclusion that we should read them in to government secret 27-4-1/96."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, obviously wondering about the odd name. James, however, nodded, "The secret about magic, kept from the muggles. Yes. Why would they be read in?"

"They are discovering things in that mountain that we are not comfortable with. We do not know what they might come across. We think it important that they be read in, to prevent them from discovering something that could cause them harm, without the proper knowledge. You, being one of the few wizards with vastly extensive knowledge of muggle culture, science, and history, are the obvious choice to visit Cheyenne Mountain Complex and monitor the situation."

"I am busy at the moment with other projects-"

"Pay is fifty thousand dollars for two weeks."

"I'll be there first thing in the morning," James said.

After getting a few more details, James hung up the phone and turned back to Dumbledore, who asked, "Is this a 'now I know so you have to kill me' situation?"

James laughed and shook his head. "No, I trust you, Old Man. Just do not tell anybody what you just heard. I could be thrown in jail for life."

Solemnly, Albus said, "I promise, I will tell no one." James nodded and stood. Albus did the same and moved around the desk to stand by his grandson. They shook hands and said goodbye. Before he walked away, James pulled the older man into a brief hug. Without a word, he left the office.

**1/30/2008  
Wednesday  
Cheyenne Mountain Complex,  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
8:48AM Local Time (7:48AM PST)**

As James went through security, or what seemed to pass for security, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. One little phone call, and James then found himself being read into the most ridiculous military secret he had ever heard.

He was escorted to a conference room full of people, who all seemed to stare at him in confusion. "Are you kidding, General? A kid?" a man wearing Colonel's insignia asked another man with two stars on his shoulders. The Major General held his hand out to James, who shook it promptly.

"I am General Hammond. This outspoken man in Colonel Jack O'Neill. This here is Captain Samantha Carter, and Doctor Daniel Jackson. Over here, we have Teal'c," the General said, indicating the four other people in the room. "They make up SG-1. Team, this is…" The balding man looked to James and said, "I'm sorry, I know your name, but not your titles."

"I am Agent James Potter, PhD, MD," James said with a nod.

"I have underwear older than you," O'Neill said.

"I've met generals younger than you. I now know why," James deadpanned. "I was asked here to give input?" he prompted.

"How old are you?" Daniel Jackson asked.

"I am seventeen," answered James. "Now, about that-"

"How do you have an advanced degree?" Samantha Carter asked.

"I will cut you," James said, showing his frustration. He let out a breath in a burst and said, "I started college when I was nine. Technically eleven, but that's bullshit. Now, please, I was asked here for a reason." James took a seat at the end of the table opposite the General.

"Are you in the Air Force?" O'Neill asked.

James stared at him for several seconds. "I work for the FBI, CIA, NSA, NASA, Secret Service…. I have performed various missions for the SEALs, Rangers, Special Forces, Delta Force, and several other groups that are simply above your pay grade." James leaned back in his chair and gave Jack O'Neill a stern look. "I have taken part in Operation Iraqi Freedom, and several other military operations. I have recently been commissioned a Brigadier General, in light of saving the world as you know it." James placed a file on the table.

"Pardon me?" General Hammond said, flabbergasted. "You're a what?"

James opened the file and slid a paper to each of the five other people. "I am here to read you all into a secret long held by the United States Government. Failure on your part to maintain this secret will result in death. Yours, specifically. I represent the United States Marine Corps Special Division of Special Forces of Special Operations. I did not name it."

"The…" Daniel Jackson said, "USMCSDSFSO?"

"Precisely," answered James. "We employ tactics and weapons that no other person could utilize."

"Do you bore the enemy to death with long names?" O'Neill asked dryly. James thought back to BORING and repressed an eye roll.

James gave O'Neill another hard stare. "We preferred that name over 'United States Marine Corps Division of Sorcery'. You muggles respond to the former with less shock."

"_Sorcery_?" Jackson demanded.

James raised a hand and caused the chair that the man called Teal'c was sitting in to raise five feet in the air. He then turned Carter entirely blue, and set fire to the table. He set everything back to normal with a wave of his hand.

The five people in the room stared at him. "Sorcery. Magic. I am a wizard. We exist in a world parallel to your own; by that, I mean we live among you, but you do not know it. We have entire shopping centers in most major cities of the world, hidden from muggles such as yourselves. We have a system of government like your own, and we tend to inter mix our politics. Most of us vote in muggle elections. We live mostly as you do, but entirely separate. We have an Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, Coast Guard, and National Guard."

"Are you saying that you're wizards? Like Merlin?" General Hammond asked.

"Precisely. In fact, Merlin was the basis of our society. In Great Britain, the highest civilian award is the Order of Merlin. Now, you are being read into this secret due to your unique position in the Air Force. Or, as Air Force auxiliary," James said, nodding to Jackson and Teal'c. "Now, recently, you have been experimenting with a device called the Stargate, which leads you to other worlds through a… blah, blah, blah, you know all this. Moving on, moving on. You have encountered ancient cultures from Earth's past, perfectly preserved on other planets. We, the Magical Government, fear you might come across an ancient civilization of wizards. We do not know if this culture would be hostile toward muggles. We thought it important to inform you of the possible dangers."

"Wait, we might have already," Carter said. She picked up her cell phone and handed it to James after finding what she was looking for. "We were at P3… you won't even care. We were on this planet, and we found these markings. Several strange things happened, things we could not explain. We were inside, and there was no obvious light source, but we could see. Doors opened without any explanation; no sensors, no nothing."

James examined the picture on the phone. "These are what we call ancient runes. Very ancient, from the look of these. This is a dialect that I can not translate, but I know someone that can."

"What are you going to do?" Hammond asked.

"I'm going to call up a buddy of mine and work this out." James held up his hand and twitched it almost imperceptibly. Not two seconds later, his best friend Andron Schwartz stood beside him. He was dressed in jeans and a red collared shirt.

"Holy-" Jack O'Neill was out of his chair and pointing a gun at Andron before most could blink.

"Put that down, if you would. It will not work, anyway. I am Doctor Andronekos Schwartz. Thanks for the save, bro. The publisher asked for some revisions on the textbook. I almost sent her stink sap in the mail, but I'm too black for that kind of white girl revenge."

"Did your mother tell you that?"

"As she was hiding the stink sap, yes."

"Oookay," O'Neill said. He pointed to Andron and asked James, "What is he going to do, then?"

"Andy?" James asked. "Andy is going to translate these runes, and attempt to tell us if this culture is hostile or not."

"As Head of Stargate Command," General Hammond said, "I need to know how you got in here."

Andron smiled widely. "Magic."

"Oh. I see. Wonderful. So people could just appear in here whenever they please?" Hammond demanded.

"No. The penalty of illegally apparating into a muggle secret facility is death. Andron could do so because I invited him. Wizards ward each facility you people create by mutual consent. Now-"

Red lights began flashing, and an alarm rang out through the complex. James stood and went to the window that looked over the gate room. The gate had activated, and a voice proclaimed that an unknown party was attempting to make it through.

And through they made it.

James and Andron recognized the man as wearing ancient wizarding garb. It was not, in fact, much different than current wizard-wear. The cut of the robe was slightly different, and the collar was noticeably different, but over all, it was very similar.

"Who are you?" Hammond demanded. James looked around and noticed that he and Andron were the only people left in the room.

"What the hell?" Andron asked. They followed the muggles to a room one floor down, and found themselves in a fairly technologically advanced command center. There was a clear view of the Gate Room, and the man standing on the ramp.

"My name is Lord Blackwell," the man called out. "Four people from this planet traveled to my own and entered a secret cavern. They discovered runes that we did not quite want discovered."

James leaned over to Andron and said, "This dude is seriously magically powerful."

"Yeah he is," his friend whispered back.

"I need to take back all evidence of these runes from you," Blackwell said. He straightened up and looked regally arrogant.

"No!" Andron yelled in a childish voice. "Mine! I haven't seen such interesting runes in years!" James hadn't seen him act that way since his mother tried to take away his computer while the sequencing of the Human Genome was being announced.

"I do not know who you are, boy, but you are combating forces beyond your means," Blackwell said with conviction.

"Oh, what? Man, I will fight you!" Andron snapped.

"Do not flatter yourself. You do not understand what you are getting into."

"That's it; kicking his ass!" Andron turned to take the stairs down to the Gate Room. James, quite entertained, stayed to watch. Andron burst into the room and raised his wand to the obviously surprised Blackwell. "Last chance," he growled. James hadn't seen Andron so angry since the that time he talked to a Creationist at his eighth grade science fair. His project has been done on carbon dating, and Andron's temper when he was six was rather short.

"What is this?" demanded Blackwell. "You are a wizard?"

"Uh, duh. Hence how I am about to blast you back through the pretty little circle thing."

Blackwell raised his hands and took a step back. "How is this? We have traveled far and wide to locate other magic wielders! This gate was blocked years ago when we tried."

"It has since been unblocked," Andron said. "And you have insulted me."

"Terribly sorry. I had thought you were magic-less. This is not a normal wizard facility," Blackwell stated as he looked around.

"It is not," James said from where he was. "It is muggle." He turned to go and join them in the gate room. The two dozen or so people with weapons trained on Blackwell eased off a bit.

James entered the room and stood next to Andron. "We are from the magical government of this country," Andron said. "Here to help these fine people with their project."

"Project? Does this project include breaking into secrets tombs and desecrating ancient temples?" Blackwell demanded. The furrow of his brow told  
James that he was just as confused as he was angry.

"If that happened, it was an accident and a mistake," James stated. "However, I feel we can work this out without the use of force."

"Damn it, James, I wanna kick this guy's ass!" Andron growled.

"Dear, you're getting a little feisty," James said in an undertone. Louder, he said, "Blackwell, we have no malevolent interest in your world. We wish only to learn about you and your people."

"My people do not wish to be learned," Blackwell stated. "We wish to be left alone."

"Then alone we will leave you," James said with ease. He bowed formally to the man and said, "Good day to you."

Spluttering, the man said, "Wait! You have not returned the evidence of the runes. You wizards might translate them. We do not wish you to know the history of our world. It is not something you are ready for."

"What is the start of your world, then?" Andron asked.

"Before we traveled to our home, we lived on this planet. We left during the Great Purge. It was an event prophesized to end magic on the planet. By we, I mean our ancestors, of course. They gathered together at the Great Gate, and left for good. Since then, generation after generation has been taught that all surviving magic left the planet that day."

"Well," James said assuredly, with a nod, "you missed some. Where do you originate from?"

Blackwell's eyebrows drew together. "We were from all over. We met at… let me think. . ." Blackwell made an inverted V shape with his hands.

"Egypt," Doctor Jackson said from behind James. "You met in Egypt?"

"I was not conversing with you, wandless," snapped Blackwell. In a friendlier tone, he continued to James, "More than that, I can not tell you. Our society has secrets too great for you to bear."

"Man, get over yourself," Andron said. "In the last month, James and I have cured lycanthropy and murdered the most evil Dark Lord of the century."

"Dark Lord?" Blackwell asked, stepping forward with one arm half raised. "There is Dark Magic on this planet?"

"Dude, James Potter is in the room; what more proof do you need?" Blackwell looked to James at Andron's words.

"You practice Dark Magic?" he asked.

"I've been known to dabble."

"Dark Magic has not been practiced in my world for centuries. It has all but fallen to legend."

Blackwell was set up in some of the guest quarters for the night. They decided that it would be best to call it a day. James explained to General Hammond that Blackwell did not like muggles, and would probably treat them all with very little respect or regard.

He then left for Vegas to continue working on the case with Grissom. Andron left once more for Berkeley, to continue preparing for his classes.

**1/30/2008  
Wednesday  
Las Vegas Crime Lab  
3:13pm (PST)**

In Las Vegas, James walked through the lab toward the evidence room. Warrick and Catherine were in there, looking over the victim's clothes. "James!" Catherine said when she looked up. "It's good to see you. We could use your help. We've hit a dead end. The parents say they hired a babysitter, but she's in the wind; apparently she was there when they left, but was gone by the time we got there. Her name didn't match any in the school district."

"Sounds fishy to me," James said as he approached the light table. "They didn't really take the time to find a reliable babysitter, did they?"

"It seems not," Warrick said. "i would think parents would try a little harder to keep their kids safe."

"So, what do we think the real story is?"

"Well, Doc Robbins places the time of death within an hour of when the parents said they left, before or after…" Catherine explained. "They've been struggling financially, as well."

"So, the parents killed the dead weight," James concluded.

Catherine's eyes rolled to stare at the ceiling. "You're impossible, James. One of these days, your lack of tact will come back to bite you."

James smirked and said, "Is that a threat… or an offer?" Catherine punched his arm and moved back to the evidence.

"Found a girlfriend yet?" she asked.

James covered his heart with his hand and dramatically threw his head back. "I'm wounded, Ms. Willows!"

Becoming serious, the three set to work.

**Meanwhile  
1/30/2008  
Wednesday  
Hogwarts  
Headmaster's Sitting Room  
9:22pm local time (1:22pm PST)**

Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, James "Jim" Potter, and Lily Potter sat in the headmaster's sitting room. They had completely exhausted all 'safe' topics minutes previously. They sat in silence, straining to think of something to say.

"Well," Lily said, "there's in a huge elephant on the couch, and I think we should talk about it." Confused, Albus, Minerva, and Jim looked to the sofa. Lily chuckled. "It's a muggle saying; it means there's something obvious that we're ignoring to keep the peace. We should discuss James."

Dumbledore coughed slightly, surprised. "What is there to discuss?" he asked.

Lily drew a deep breath and said, "Well, he hates Jim, Mum, and I. He likes you, though, Dad. Why does he like you, do you think?"

Albus blinked. Once, twice, three times. He could not believe he had just been asked that. "Because, dear, I was not the one that put him in the orphanage. He remembers that, you know. I did not agree with him being sent away. I looked for him. I was kind to him while he was here." Albus poured himself more tea.

Jim leaned back in his chair and said, "But, we did not know what we were doing. The potion that Pettigrew gave us…"

"No potion or elixir can, in any way, create love. Deep infatuation, yes. Lust, yes. Love? No. How, then, could any potion or elixir end love? What Dark magic could make a parent stop loving their child?"

"But, what if Voldemort discovered something that could do that?" Jim asked.

"Let us examine this. Peter would have had to have given you the potion before the attack, yes? Probably two weeks beforehand. You were fine with Little Harry until after the attack. What could have occurred to cause you to get rid of not only your child, but your oldest child; your heir, Jim. My heir, in fact."

"Well, we thought Sirius had stopped Voldemort. We were all very proud of Sirius, and Jim and I seemed to… forget about Harry," Lily stated. "Voldemort must have done something that made the potion effective, you know? Perhaps a spell or charm."

"But why would he bother doing all that, if he was just going to kill Harry anyway?" Minerva asked. She was sitting beside her husband on his (slightly enlarged) overstuffed chair.

"Because," Albus said, "Voldemort was not sure he could kill Harry. The prophecy scared him enough to make him employ a back-up plan; something he usually does not do. And, his plan worked. However, Voldemort did not know how bright of a child Harry was. In the end, it was his fatal flaw. Harry remembered the attack and his parents. Growing up in an orphanage did nothing to stunt his magical growth. Voldemort should have known this, growing up in an orphanage himself. This leads me to conclude that Voldemort did not intend for you to get rid of Harry."

"What did he expect?" asked Jim.

Dumbledore thought for a moment on how to word his explanation. "Voldemort would have figured two scenarios. One, you allow Harry to stay with you, but you hate him and treat him horribly. Harry grows up unloved and bitter; he later decides to join forces with Voldemort. Two, you kill Harry outright."

"What?" Lily demanded, nearly coming out of her chair. "How could we do that?"

"Think, Lily," Albus said gently. "What would Voldemort have done to someone he hated and had no use for? He would have killed them. He did not understand that perhaps not all people feel that way about murder. It is not something to be considered lightly."

"So, Voldemort expected us to kill Harry for him?" Jim asked. He took Lily's hand in his own, as his wife looked quite distraught. "That _almost_ makes me feel better. At least James is still alive. And mostly sane." Jim smiled as he spoke, but it was a small, bitter smile.

"Dad, what can we do to make this right?" Lily asked. "How can we make James stop hating us?"

Albus drew a deep breath. "I do not know. You've made a good start, so far. And he does not exactly hate you. He just has no strong feeling of _like_ toward you. He has mostly gotten over his animosity toward you. Last I checked, he no longer wishes that large rocks will fall from the sky and _squish_ you."

"Oh, well," Jim said brightly, "that's an improvement."

**1/30/2008  
Wednesday  
Las Vegas  
James's Bedroom  
5:02 PM (PST)**

James was sprawled out on his bed, sleeping deeply. He was just having a weird dream about aliens when his phone rang, ripping him from sleep. "Hello?" he said, before he even processed that he'd answered the phone.

"James, it's Andron. You need to get up here. I've just translated the runes from that planet. You won't believe this. I think this rune describes the origin of magic."


	3. Of the Origin of Magic

.

**Chapter Three:  
Of the Origin of Magic  
**

_**Wednesday  
Las Vegas  
1/30/2008  
James' Apartment  
5:02 PM (PST)**_

_James was sprawled out on his bed, sleeping deeply. He was just having a weird dream about aliens when his phone rang, ripping him from sleep. "Hello?" he said, before he even processed that he'd answered the phone. _

"_James, it's Andron. You need to get up here. I've just translated the runes from that planet. You won't believe this. I think this rune describes the origin of magic."_

James shot out of his bed and ran out the door of the apartment. He sprinted back in when he realized he was only wearing boxers. In his hurry to leave, he tripped himself on his jeans as he tried to put them on, and ended up smashing his head against his dresser. Then, as he ran out the door, he slid on a sock and did the splits accidentally. As he laid on the floor, cursing the gods and wondering if he would ever have kids, James realized that he seriously needed to repaint the place.

**Wednesday  
Cheyenne Mountain Complex  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
1/30/2008  
6:17PM Local Time (5:17PM PST)**

Fifteen minutes after he got the call, James was walking through Cheyenne Mountain Complex toward the meeting room that overlooked the Gate Room. Andron, much to the dismay of all gathered, was excitedly lecturing on the runes he had translated. Of course, Andron's excitement made his already complicated words impossible to decipher. He was running about between large hand drawn runes that had been taped to the walls, explaining their meaning.

"James!" Andron yelled, leaping toward him. Andron grabbed James' shirt front and pulled him forward. "Look at this!" Andron shrilly commanded. "This is a symbol for Ancient Germany, James. Germany, more than two thousand years Before Common Era! How unbelievable! These wizards literally came from all over! I think this one here was found at a dig in Romania, and this one here," Andron all but flew over a table to get to the other side of the room, "was once found in Scotland! Right near Hogwarts, too! Put all of these together, and _guess what it says_!" Andron demanded in a voice that raised continuously in pitch.

James guessed, "Leggo my Eggo?" James stared at his best friend, seriously concerned for his sanity. Andron looked almost manic; his eyes were wide and he was breathing hard.

Andron ignored the comment and said, "There's no direct translation, but it talks about magic before wands and the end of the world and muggle savages. If we had this whole thing, it could explain all of our unanswered questions. Because this," Andron said, running to the window where there was a huge piece of paper taped, with a single rune drawn. "This is a rune that either means werewolf or man of wolf qualities. James, this might explain the origin of lycanthropy!"

Daniel Jackson was looking over the runes around the room. He pushed up his glasses and looked to Andron. They looked at each other for several seconds. "We need to go back to that planet," they both said.

"Now, wait a minute," Hammond said. The muggles were all seated around a table. "They don't even want us there. How do you plan on getting them to allow you to the planet?"

"We have something the planet may want," James said. Everyone looked at him. "Lord Blackwell."

"That's holding someone for ransom!" Captain Carter exclaimed, her eyebrows nearly disappearing in her short blond hair. "We can't do that."

"Did I say ransom?" James asked with a smirk.

The looks he received were not very confident. In fact, some of them looked downright disapproving.

Andron watched his friend do what he did best; coerce, connive, backstab, lie, and generally get his own way. Somehow, James convinced Blackwell to allow them to return to the planet and get the other runes. James, Andron, Jackson, and Teal'c would go to the planet and transcribe the other runes. In return, James would give Blackwell and the rest of the planet books on magic that had been discovered and refined in previous centuries.

"However," Blackwell said as they were about to step through the Stargate, "do not say I did not warn you. Some things are better left unanswered."

Andron was intrigued by the gate, but he wasn't so sure about actually stepping through the thing. It looked like something that James would do, and anything that James would do was usually not a recommended activity.

"You will be fine," Teal'c said. From what Andron understood, that was an uncharacteristic display of comfort from a usually stoic man. "I have done this many times."

"Thanks," Andron said, not in the least calmed. James, of course, did not seem perturbed at all. Andron was sure James was completely unshakable. He hoped to one day see something that even James was afraid of. Okay, so he did not want to _see_ it, but he hoped to hear about it… later. Anything James was afraid of was bound to be terrifying in the extreme.

"Are we ready?" Blackwell demanded. Once everyone had agreed, Blackwell stepped through the 'portal of doom', as Andron had named it, and James followed. Teal'c and Jackson quickly followed. Each time Andron meant to step forward, his stomach stopped him.

"Oh, for the love of. . ." Suddenly, Andron felt two hands on his back, and he was propelled forward. Reaching the other side, Andron cursed Jack O'Neill rather spectacularly.

"Man, is that a Rottweiler or a bear?" James teased. Andron punched his arm.

Andron looked down at himself as he shivered. "Why have I got frost on my face?" he asked. James had ice crystals on his face, as well, clinging to his stubble and eyelashes. The other members of their party, the SG team, did not have frost on their faces. "Why haven't you gone all frosty, as well?"

Carter shrugged and said, "It goes away after the first few dozen times you go through."

James looked around and saw stone walls inscribed with tiny, tiny runes all the way around. Once Andron noticed, the man was in heaven. James continued exploring the tomb. "What exactly is this place?" James asked.

Blackwell replied, "This place is the final resting place of the first group of witches and wizards to have traveled to this planet. This is where they lived. They carved all of these runes."

"James, it says right here that there was over thirteen _thousand_ people that traveled here from Earth." Andron's excitement was obviously contagious, because Daniel Jackson was in the same state.

Teal'c stood against a wall, his rather unique weapon held in front of him. His face was entirely impassive. James followed Andron and Jackson at a sedate pace.

He was trying to reconcile the fact that he was not on Earth. James had often wondered about life on other planets, and whether or not there was any. To have found not one, but many planets that held life was amazing. Not just that, but the fact that a great many of them held life from Earth was astounding.

Apparently, in the time of Ancient Egypt and the building of the Great Pyramids, the Stargate had transported many people from various cultures across the galaxy, depositing them on habitable planets. This left their ancient cultures mostly intact through the centuries, not having outside interference of influence. The chance for academic gain in the area of ancient cultures was beyond amazing.

Eventually, though having lost Andron and Jackson somewhere back in the tomb, James, Blackwell, and Teal'c exited the tomb into bright sunshine. After his eyes adjusted, James saw a booming community, akin to one he would have expected in colonial America, or even Ancient Rome or Greece.

People moved about, chatting freely, between well constructed homes of wood and stone. When the people noticed James, they stopped and stared. James saw something quite interesting.

He could not discern any form of race between the people. They knew from the runes that Egyptian, German, Scottish, Romanian, Moroccan, and various other peoples had traveled to the planet. And yet, not one of the people in front of him could definitively be called one or the other. James figured that centuries of marriages between them left the people a complete mix of all of them.

James glanced at Blackwell and said, "What is the population of this planet?"

"Oh, dear," the man said, leaning on one leg to think. "More than one hundred million, I should say. We have a nice little community here. This is the capital of the planet. We have five dozen schools of magic on the planet, and each child receives free, compulsory education. We are a peaceful people."

James nodded and continued to look around. To his left was what appeared to be a shoe shop, with a man sitting on a stool, putting together shoes. Down the road, small children were practicing magic by levitating stones. Several people were gathered in a restaurant eating lunch and talking.

James was about to ask a question, but he had a sudden stomach turning thought. There was no cell tower on the planet. For the first time in his entire life, he was conscious and yet completely cut off from all communication. He almost choked and stumbled back a step.

"Mr. Potter?" Blackwell asked. "Are you alright?"

James took out his cell phone, and saw the two most heinous words he had ever seen.

**NO SERVICE**

"I can't talk to anyone," he said, in as close to a whine as he had ever spoken. He held up his phone for Blackwell to see. The man gave him a confused look. James spent a moment explaining phones and cell towers. Blackwell, looking unconvinced, changed the subject.

"There are a few people here you may wish to speak to. Madam Leon across the city, she is one of the most knowledgeable historians on the planet. Sir John of the next city is a linguist of great skill."

James spent several hours running around the city with Andron, discovering things lost to time on Earth. In fact, they spoke to a potion brewer about lycanthropy, and got some ideas for curing the psychological aspect of lycanthropy.

Realizing that he had to get back to Earth to help in Manhattan, James got Teal'c to show him how to return to Earth. He left Andron and the rest of them as he returned to SGC through the gate and nearly ran into O'Neill as they both tried to get through the same door in opposite directions.

O'Neill stepped to the side and bowed mockingly as he let James through. James rolled his eyes and continued to pass. He told Hammond he would be back in a few hours or so, and that if nobody heard from Andron, they should send in a search party. Probably an armed search party, with riot gear.

**Thursday  
Manhattan SVU  
New York City, New York  
1/31/2008  
2:58AM local time (11:56 PM PST)**

As soon as James entered the room, Olivia Benson grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a high tech set up in a small room connected to the main room. There were six flat screens that could display images in high definition, and allowed for several other fun features, such as internet.

At that moment, there were pictures of Annette Bennington's autopsy, and of a suspect. The suspect just _looked_ suspect. It was a mugshot, so he looked drunk and stoned and had a split lip and black eye. His rap sheet was displayed on one of the screens, with a veritable laundry list of offenses. Armed robbery, larceny, attempted murder.

One thing caught James' attention. In a small section at the bottom, in notes about the man's character, one word was out of place.

Mordred.

It was a word the magical government tagged people with when they had been caught using Dark Magic. As the name of the man who had betrayed King Arthur, it was repulsive to wizards. It was subtle enough that muggles would not catch it, but any wizard would know what it meant. The man in that picture was both a wizard, and a Dark Wizard. Of course, the government took way too much pleasure in labeling people Dark. Use _one_ little Blood Boiling spell… but James' past wasn't the issue at hand.

James got on the phone and called some acquaintances in the Magical government. Within ten minutes, the man's entire magical rap sheet was faxed over.

In it, every known address, alias, relative, crime, and personal history was documented and footnoted. Detective Benson looked it over in surprise.

"This is a lot of information," she said.

"More just came in," Munch said as he walked in with a handful of papers. "Personal communications from his time spent in prison. Pictures of him at various government events."

"Can they give us all this?" Benson asked.

"The magical community does not believe in protecting the guilty. Sure, innocent until proven guilty… but once you are convicted. . ." James said, shrugging. "You find just how few friends you have. In the magical world, a man convicted of rape goes away for life. No exceptions. Murderers, as well. Child abusers? They are lucky if they make it to the prison. The wizards escorting them have been known to stop at a bar and leave them hogtied outside, wandless and defenseless. Angry mobs have been known to spontaneously appear and beat these people to death, or torture them for hours, until the convict is literally insane."

"You grandfather was saying he has sentenced rapists to... not death, but something else?" Elliot Stabler prompted.

"Dementor's Kiss," James said with a nod. "Removing the soul from the body, and leaving someone permanently catatonic, unable to function."

"Can we get some of those dementor things?" Fin Tutola asked, without a hint of humor. James smirked and shook his head.

"They can only be seen by people like me," he said. "Now, we have this man's file and his home address. I say we pay him a visit. I haven't beat anybody up lately," James said happily.

**1/31/2008  
Thursday  
Somewhere in Manhattan  
New York City, New York  
5:11 AM local time (2:11 AM PST)**

James, Stabler, and Benson stood at the door of an apartment, ready to knock. James raised a fist and pounded on the door, yelling for Mack Rogers to open the door.

"Police, open up," Stabler added. James' loud voice woke some of the neighbors and brought them to their door.

"Shut up down there!" an old lady in a bathrobe and slippers hollered.

"Stuff it, hag!" James yelled back. The old woman huffed and puffed and muttered, and slammed her door. James pounded on the door once more, shouting, "Open this damn door, or I will _blow it up_!"

"James, we can't blow up a door," Benson whispered.

James turned to her with a small smirk and said, "I think I forgot to tell you that Rogers is a wizard, and therefore is under jurisdiction of the magical government. As such… I _can_ blow the door up."

Negating all conversation, the door swung open revealing Mack Rogers. He looked even worse than his mugshot. He was drunk and slightly bent over, leaning on the doorframe to stay balanced.

"What d'you sonsabitches want?" he slurred.

James looked the man up and down. "Nothing, you dirty drunk. Take a shower once in a while, will you?" He turned on his heel and walked away, hoping that the two detectives would follow.

However confused they were, they did follow him. In fact, so did Mack Rogers.

The man caught up to them on the street, clad in only his boxers and swearing vigorously. James turned and had the man slammed into a wall and decorated him in handcuffs before the man could blink. "Mack Rogers, you are under arrest for being drunk and disorderly in public, for violating Obscenity Ordinance of 1788, and for indecent exposure in public." He finished Mirandizing the man and tossed him into the back of Stabler's car.

Back at the stationhouse, Rogers was placed in interrogation, and was being thoroughly worked over by Stabler. He would not admit to anything, however.

Bored as all hell, James decided to move things along. "Doctor Huang!" James yelled across the room, loudly, "I'm going to need you to oversee a _somewhat-medical-but-not-really_ procedure. Pretty please?"

Huang, quite confused, walked over and gave James a look. "And what can I do for you?"

James waved the psychiatrist over to the interrogation room, and burst in, startling Stabler. "Has the cavalry arrived?" Rogers asked. "Wonderful. A runt and a little kid."

Leaning over to Huang, James said, "Am I the runt, or the little kid?" Huang, who stood at maybe five-foot-seven or eight, slowly turned to glance at James, who stood over six feet tall. "Right," James said, moving on. "Listen up, Rogers; you have three seconds to confess, before I make you."

Rogers gave a snarl. "And who are you to make me do anything?"

"Three. Two. One." James took a vial out of his pocket and pulled Rogers hair until his head was snapped back. He poured three (or four or five) drops of veritaserum on his tongue. James turned to Stabler and said, "Ask your questions now."

Stabler asked Rogers, "Did you rape and murder Annette Bennington?"

Listlessly, Rogers replied, "No."

Cocking his head, James asked, "Did you murder Annette Bennington?"

"No."

"Did you rape Annette Bennington?"

"Yes."

"Did you break into her home?"

"Yes."

James continued questioning for twenty minutes. When he was done, he met with the detectives and the captain in the captain's office. "Rogers cannot be tried in a muggle court, due to the nature of his confession. However, he will be tried in a magical court. You will all be called as witnesses."

"And you?" Cragen asked.

"Me? I am going to be the prosecutor!"

They all stared at him. "Can you do that?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to?"

They gave him blank looks. James just smiled, not knowing what else he was expected to say. In his mind, it made perfect sense. Before they could ask him to elaborate, his phone began ringing.

Ringing was not exactly the right way to put it, though. Actually, his phone began screaming. "**FUCK**! **FUCK**! **FUCK**!"

Without looking at the caller ID, James answered and said, "Hello, Special Agent Gibbs."

The NCIS agent asked him, through gritted teeth, if he would help out on a case involving what they suspected was a squib and a Petty Officer. James agreed, but told Gibbs that he would be there in two hours.

**1/31/2008  
Thursday  
Naval Criminal Investigative Services  
Washington, DC  
11:26AM local time (8:26AM PST)**

Carefully, James peered around the elevator door, attempting to scope out the situation. McGee, DiNozzo, And Ziva were at their desks, doing paperwork. Well, Tony DiNozzo was balling up tiny pieces of paper and flicking them at Tim McGee. Fed up, Ziva David huffed and flung a notebook at him.

As Gibbs was nowhere in sight, James strode in and sat at the man's desk. He leaned back and put his feet up with a cup of to-go coffee. Finding an annoying file folder in the way of his foot's comfort, James shoved it off to the side.

"So, what's up?" he asked, sipping coffee. The three other people were staring at him with a mix of wide-eyed wonder, and horror.

"You…" DiNozzo said, "you're _sitting at Gibbs' desk_! Boss is going to kill you!"

"Yeah, he is," Gibbs said. The man was standing on a landing of the staircase that was behind McGee's and DiNozzo's desks. Next to him stood the Director of NCIS, a calm redheaded woman who was looking over the area with a slightly stern look. "What the hell are you doing?" Gibbs asked, holding his own cup of coffee.

"Why, I am waiting for you, my darling love!" James replied. "And I have just one thing to say." James made one swift motion, and then he was standing on top of the desk, which, he noticed, was actually two desks in an 'L' shape. He pointed to Gibbs and said in a monotone, "Did you ever know that you're my hero? You're everything I wish I could be. I can fly higher than and eagle, for you are the-"

Agent Gibbs threw a half-empty cup of pretty-hot coffee at James, hitting him right in the chest. "Shut up," Gibbs growled as be began descending the stairs.

"_Ah, it burns! I'm melting_! Damn, you use a lot of cream," James said, licking the coffee off the side of his mouth. He waved his hand and made the coffee disappear. He hopped off the desk and spread his arms to Gibbs, who brushed by him to his desk. "Not why I'm here, though. Now, what did you need?"

"McGee," Gibbs said in lieu of an order.

"Right, Boss." McGee stood up and hustled off.

James watched as everyone ran around without being told what to do. Damn, Gibbs had them _trained_.

James sat on McGee's desk and stared at Gibbs. After a moment, the man looked up and gave James a look as if to say, 'Did you need something?'

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" James demanded.

"Go to autopsy!"

Noting that the man had his hand on a stapler, James decided to move quickly to the autopsy room. The last thing he needed was to have to staple up a stapler injury. Again.


End file.
